


Break

by kneelinganon (the_netherlady)



Series: Mending [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Avenger Loki, Avengers take in Loki, BAMF jotun loki, Brother Feels, Community: norsekink, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Powers, Idiots, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki Redemption, Loki secretly cares about everyone maybe, No really what, Odin's Parenting, Post Avengers (Movie), avoidance fixes everyone's problems because of reasons, emotionally retarded everyone, he lives, outside perspective, phil coulson - Freeform, possible pairing in the future, reluctant keepers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_netherlady/pseuds/kneelinganon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(Why didn't you let me go?)</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Let me help you, brother." </i>
</p><p> <i>(Not your brother. Never your brother.)</i></p><p> <i>"All things can be mended."</i></p><p> <br/><i>(You are a <b>fool.</b>) </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a prompt from the Norse-kink meme on Dreamwidth; After the events of New York, Loki and Thor return to Asgard. Loki is tried for his crimes, and his powers are stripped. With no where else to take him, Thor implores his friends on Earth to help him keep his brother. The Avengers can't adjust, Loki is fine being ignored, and--eventually--someone tries to destroy New York and kill everyone. Again. 
> 
> A whole truck load of Loki feels, angst, and--perhaps--a spark of hope.

_"Loki. For your crimes against the Midigardians, against your very people of Asgard, it seems I have no choice."_

_The sound was sharp. Ragged, like shredding cloth--like skin, popping, snapping, as the muscle detached from the dermis, stretching from itself with unclean, awful ripping._

_"I, Odin, Allfather, find you unworthy of your gifts--unworthy of Asgard--unworthy of this royal line."_

_At the time, he had marveled at how the pain of his electric skin and the pain of the Allfather's words had dueled within him. Bile rose in his throat--He could not tell which had the greater sting. And he should not have cared._

_"And you are henceforth banished..."_

_His knees felt as stone, bound to the glittering, polished floors of the great hall. Smoke rose from his still too pink hands--oh, so MERCIFUL, my Lord Odin! Not even HE can gaze upon a truer skin!--raw, clawed in the thin material of his breeches._

_He would not look to his once-mother. He would not look at their golden son. Bitter tears burned his eyes, and they were swallowed, ruthlessly._

_No light within him. No warmth or veins of energy that slid well into the realms and so connected him to all that vastness. Nothing._

_Thor's rough, clumsy hands found his own--much later, in the fading light, on the remnants of the bifrost. Shards of his shame and failure. It all seemed so long ago. The balls of his feet, pressed into the grooves of the long, jagged cracks still lining the once-great bridge.  
Perhaps if he fell, they would never find him. The Other would be bereft of his promised punishment, and he would drift between realms, succumb to the nothing, and finally be done. _

_But there was Thor, bright, shining, vacuous Thor, turning him from that long stretching abyss._

_Why didn't you let me go?_

_"Let me help you, brother."_

_Not your brother. Never your brother._

_"All things can be mended."_

_You are a **fool.** _

 

"Are you outta your goddamn mind?"

Stale air. Recycled, metallic, frigid. Everything in this place was hard, smooth, and uncomfortable. Walls, tabletops, the chair digging into his back. The air.

Disgusting.

"Thor, he leveled the CITY. Staged a full scale alien invasion, caused the deaths of hundreds,"

"Turned Barton into his dancing Marotte."

Crunch. His eyes slid to the right.

"..You know, Marotte, the kind with the stick--didn't any of you guys watch puppet shows during your tragic childhoods--?"

"Stark, what did I tell you about food in the conferen--"

"Off topic there, Boss-man." Crunch.

"--Isn't there..anywhere else you can take him, Thor?"

"No, friend Steve...there is no other realm to deliver him, where I can keep him under a watchful eye. My duties are to Midigard, and I will not leave him stranded."

"We can always throw him in prison."

Ah, always so quiet for a monster, Dr. Banner.

"Fullest extent of the law kind thing--hell, he'd get the insanity plea and all."

"I could live with Controlly McDaddyProblems in the loony bin. He might even enjoy the electroshock therapy."

"I thought you said that was an outdated metho--"

"It is, Cap, don't get your flag in a kno--"

"Loki is a Prince of Asgard."

Was.

"I will not see him incarcerated on Midigard, nor submit to your tortures."

He could feel Thor's eyes on him a moment. He pressed his thumbnail into his palm, to keep his hands still, keep them from flying for the golden son's throat.

"The removal of his magic was punishment enough."

The Director shifted closer.

"And we're supposed to trust your alien retribution?"

Crunch.

"Look, the fact is, big guy, we don't care if he's been declawed. He's still a little psychopath."

He felt Thor bristle beside him.

"He is my brother--"

"And your brother tried to take over the world."

The spider had the habit of letting her words hang, he noticed.

"..Brother or not, Thor. Our concerns are more than valid."

"Especially after what he did to Coulson."

There you are, Barton. Quiet bird.

"Almost did."

Crunch.

"...what? You didn't know?" He shifted. "They didn't know?"

"Stark, how in god's name--"

"What do you mean 'almost'?"  
"What happened to Phil--"  
"Is he still a--"  
"What's ALMOST mean--"

There was a bit of yelling after that. He contented himself with the thickness of the din, staring at the brushed, steely tabletop, focused all too inward on the void in his chest. He couldn't recall this faceless man they were, apparently, so deeply affected by. He didn't take care with specifics. None of the collateral mattered. Rush of feet, clamor and demand. If there had been a much warmer glow, the thick air about him would seem much more familiar. It would almost feel as those days long before the coronation ever laid on his mind. Before awful truths. Before the fall.

"--You know what, I changed my mind. I think it's a great idea."

"You--what?"

"Come on, Cap, don't tell me you're not innately curious about a supervillain's breakfast habits."

"Wait a second--"

"You know, I think I'm with Tony on this one. It's not like there isn't room in the tower."

"Friend Bruce?"

So much wretched hope in Thor's voice.

"It's a good way to have an eye on him all the time, huh Tony?"

"Yep. Romanoff?"

"It's definitely keeping your enemies closer."

"Now hold on one goddamn minute here. This isn't a democracy."

"True. But, uh..it's my building."

There was a heavy--obnoxious--crackling as Stark tossed the leavings of whatever he had been eating. He heard a slap of skin as the mortal passed by Thor, his hand grazing the god's shoulder.

"C'mon, Thunderhead. Bring Mutie."

And again, Thor's calloused hands pulled not-so-gently on his shoulders, and he followed the mortal down a corridor. Fury shouted threats at the billionaire's back, 'this'll be on your head if it blows up', and all that.

He could hear the other illustrious Avengers walking behind him. He stepped a bit further in front of Thor. Mortals were fickle creatures. Rash decision makers, lead so purely by their shakable hearts. Any one of them could change their minds. Even Thor. Regardless of his blind devotion.

He will find himself a fool for this. One day.

It is a small room they lead him to. Small in regards to his former, grander chambers on Asgard. The walls were a rich cream, the carpets a lush, vivid white. He's pointed towards the Midigardian facilities adjacent to the room, as well as a closet, a desk and his bed. None of these took his attention.

The window, however, did. It seemed one wall had been entirely cased in glass, leading to a small balcony--and the still rebuilding city stretched behind. He stepped over to the great glass wall and darted his eyes to the gray sky line.

Stark muttered something about dinner, and left--not expecting to be thanked.

Thor lingered. As he always did.

"...I hope you will join us, brother."

He could feel his open mouth, the words dying in Thor's throat. A moment later, he left as well.

Pale fingers brushed against the pane--finding a small ridge between two, and pressed. The glass slid open easily, the city dully roaring below. A breeze swept in, half fouled, half clear, pushing the stiff, manufactured air from what had now become his new home.

Loki left the door agape, and retreated slowly to his bed. The sheets were as rich as they looked, soft and gentle under his hands.

The consistent breeze licked at his frayed hair. His tunic rustled. The open door creaked.

The void in his chest was dipping. Something icy, and malicious quietly curling within it, pressing on his heart, and the severed vines where his magic once cleaved. As he slid to the cushiony floor, knees pressed against his chest, Loki recognized the slow, frosty tendrils of fear.


	2. Soldier

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

He hadn't slept. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Not a wink, all night. 

_Drip._

In desperation, he had even turned on the television and clung to some noisy advertisement with a guy that talked too fast about some orange rag that could soak up a pretty ridiculous amount of Coca-Cola. 

Steve had to admit. The thing was pretty darn impressive. 

But not even that nonsense could quiet his reeling brain. 

No one else was awake yet. He usually woke before the others, when the sky was still bluish, and the air still chilly. He would eat a quick breakfast, wander down to the training facility--usually for a run, or a few dozen laps around the pool--and head back up. By then, his teammates would be clustered around the kitchen, murmuring half-hearted 'good mornings', tucking into their food and caffeine. 

But today..today, he didn't think he could force himself downstairs. Anxiety sat in his stomach, thick and queasy, as he watched the coffee maker leisurely fill the glass pot. 

While he hadn't technically cast a vote the evening before, he still let them do it. Well, he still let _Tony_ do it. A mass murdering psychopath was sleeping a mere two doors away from his own room. 

Jeez Louise. 

The all-American hero scrubbed his face, pinching his eyes tight enough to see muddled colors burst behind his eyelids. Okay, so it had felt pretty good seeing Fury's face when Tony flippantly showed the demi-god to his new room in the tower, really--keeping something like _that_ from the lot of them, for _months_ was unacceptable. 

It had occurred to him last night that he should ask Fury for those trading cards when he saw him again. And what medical facility S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping the agent. 

That news alone warranted a few nights loss of sleep. 

But now that he had been up a good ten hours, he was seriously considering the possible ramifications their collective spite could bring them. Okay, so the Asgardian didn't have his 'magic' anymore. That hardly meant he wouldn't try to smother the lot of them in their sleep or something. It's not like Thor could watch his brother all the time. 

His alien friends--the Chitar or something or other--could come back to spring him, and then where would they be. He sighed, finally pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

He was going to have a headache over this mess all day. He just knew it. He was tempted to just lock himself in his room for the day, hope to pass out and catch up on all that sleep. 

Steve was briefly eying the refrigerator and possible breakfast ideas when a sound attracted his attention. 

He expected to see Bruce, or maybe Natasha. They were the only two that would occasionally wake as early as he did. Maybe he wasn't alone in his sleepless haze. 

The sight he met wasn't a teammate. But a god. 

The Trickster hadn't changed from the green tunic and black pants he saw him in the night before. The linen hung off him, like ill-fitting pajamas. Pale skin almost glowing in the dark fabric, two electric green eyes in a gaunt face. The deep bags under his eyes didn't help much. For a moment, Steve thought he almost looked harmless. Almost human. 

Loki had his eyes glued to the floor, and seemed to be torn between his half-hearted venture into the kitchen nook, or fleeing back to his room. 

A painfully uncomfortable silence stretched. The slighter man finally looked up, his eyes falling on the bowl of fruit on the counter--placed by Pepper the afternoon before. Four apples, varied in type, a pear, a poor looking banana and some kinda exotic affair. Maybe a mango, or a kumquat or something. 

Steve swallowed. 

He was nothing if not polite. 

The super soldier lifted a hand--pausing, as the god flinched in the shadow of the hallway--and gently pushed the bowl towards the edge of the counter. 

A silent invitation. 

Loki didn't move. 

Steve turned, stepped to the table, and sat--picking up the newspaper he had left there an hour before. For a few long minutes, Steve distractedly read over the front page, sipping lightly on his coffee--playing for the entire world that there was no one else in the space. 

He was turning the page when he saw--well, more felt than anything--the other near the counter. Steve marveled at how quiet the god's footfalls had been, so different from his brother's laughably thundering steps. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and there was Loki. Tentatively inspecting an apple from the bowl. 

His fingers slid over the green skin, inspecting every inch of the surface--pausing as he found each nick and tiny bruise on the fruit. His brow was furrowed, deeply, his eyes almost looking past the thing in his hands, as if really seeing something far, far away. 

Steve had seen that look before. Boys, back from the trenches. Dirty, in ripped canvas and blood. As if they could never really look regular at anything in the world again. Nothing's changed, but everything's different. Because everywhere you look, there's Death. Lingering. Like a bad smell. 

Steve decidedly turned back to his paper. He told himself he hadn't really seen that. Not in Loki's eyes. It was a shade. Another lie. A trick, by the pale skin and tired face, and it was some other kid's sad green eyes in his memory, and not the aforementioned sociopath standing at the counter. 

When he finally flipped the paper closed and wandered to the refrigerator, he thought to look for the god again. 

Loki was gone. No surprise there. 

But the bowl was half empty. Only the browning banana and a sad-looking mango were nestled inside. 

If Steve thanked Pepper for the fruit the next time he saw her--and maybe mentioned that the apples were popular in the tower--it was nobody's business. He was fond of apples too, after all. It didn't hurt to have a few extra floating around.


	3. Spider

Five days. 

Ice settled in the glass by her elbow, the sound magnified by the quiet in the all too large room. 

Five whole days. 

Nothing had exploded yet, no one had died, so she was tempted to call that a small victory. 

The air in the building was tense. Of course, that was a generous term in her opinion. 'Tense' couldn't even cover it. It felt like every inch of the place was covered in eggshells. They were all poised on too-thin ice, the hair-thin cracks branching outwards at an achingly slow pace. She wanted it to break already. 

Something had to happen. 

All this was stretching on too long. It just wasn't natural. 

She raised the glass to her lips, idly turning the page of the book resting on her knees. 

Natasha didn't spend much time in the tower. She and Barton were often off on their own missions, the two more independent of the team. Bruce had been gone a month after the Manhattan incident, but even he gravitated to the tower once Tony had finished what he liked to call their 'very own fortress of solitude'. Thor had come back around the same time. The skies were never very sunny after that. Even more so now. 

Natasha wasn't one to pry, but anyone with enough sense could tell it had to do with his brother. It was always Loki.

The assassin hadn't seen _him_ much since. 

And she didn't seek him out. 

No one did, as far as she could tell. Even Thor kept his distance after a time. 

Though, at night, the rooms were quiet enough, the walls a bit thinner, she could hear his voice float from down the hall, like some strange conversation between a man and nothing at all. Loki hadn't said a word since arriving. It would be strange if one thought about it. 

And she made a point not to. 

Or, at least, she tried. It was difficult after visiting Coulson earlier that day. It was funny, how his steely hospital room was near packed with piles of paperwork and manila folders. Something about filing, and how being unconscious for a time was really inconvenient for his work ethic. Barton told him they would have come sooner of they'd known. Phil just smiled. There were a few greeting cards tucked near a book by Agatha Christie. A corner of a brightly colored slip of card-paper peeked from beside the hard cover, a deep brown marring an edge of it. An all too familiar scrawl across its face, in blue pen, was a new addition. Phil off-handedly mentioned that Steve had come by the day before. 

Natasha felt a great urge to hug him. She hadn't. 

It wasn't that he had survived. But that Loki had failed to kill him. That he had very nearly killed him to begin with. 

She sighed, staring at a sentence on the page that she had already read at least a dozen times now. It didn't matter. Loki was here. She was lying in the bed the lot of them had made. 

Natasha closed the book with a snap and rubbed her forehead. 

It was then her senses spiked--she turned, sharply, towards the other end of the vast living room. 

It seemed like he had been venturing outside--through the broad glass doors to the balcony below Stark's landing for his suit. The door was half open, his thin fingers wrapped around the brass door handle. He flinched. 

It would occur to her, hours later, that the god looked positively wrong in the dark washed jeans and black thermal someone had supplied him. It almost seemed the man was made for leather and armor, nothing else. 

His eyes were wide, staring, like she had every inclination to leap across the room and eat him alive. There was a bottle of water clutched in his other hand. And what looked like a slice of white bread. He hadn't been at dinner. He almost never came to any meals they bothered to eat together. 

Natasha quietly turned back around, and sipped at her drink. 

A moment later, the door swished open, and closed again. 

Replacing her book on Stark's annoyingly modernistic shelves, she stole a glance outside. The god was seated on a round, white planter, staring vacantly out at the city, twisting the cap off his bottle. She watched a moment longer, as he meticulously split the piece off bread into small squares, never once looking down at his busy hands. 

It was going to rain soon. She wondered if Thor had been talking at him again. 

Natasha turned on her heel and wandered in the direction of her appointed bedroom. 

This was Stark's fault. She was more than willing to lay every ounce of blame on him when the ice finally cracked.


	4. Bird

Jesus, that crap was ungodly. 

The quinjet roared around them as they made the arch back to Stark's tower. No one was really speaking; just a few pained murmurings from the corner Thor and Stark were seated. The God was pretty convinced he hadn't been hit that hard. The gash on his head was evidence to the contrary. He looked away when the wound decidedly started clotting over--slowly, but disturbingly fast for human standards. God or not. Clint didn't really want to get used to that. 

That hadn't been the worst of it, though. It was enough they had traipsed out somewhere way upstate in the middle of nowhere--and it wasn't too awful when they had to make it underground to the heart of some sewage treatment facility--but those...whatever the hell they were, down there. Just. 

Christ. 

Missing campers and rangers, animals with their innards liquefied. They were told it was some kinda radioactive mutation, that those things were just piles of sentient bacteria. 

Sentient bacteria that spewed hellishly foul, viscous green slime. 

They were dripping when they all clambered aboard the jet again. Barton couldn't even smell it anymore, after the first half hour. 

The atmosphere itself still reeked. 

They were encroaching on two weeks. They talked easily enough with each other, no one was all that closed off. Maybe Nat kept to her training a bit more. Maybe Stark practically slept in his workshop. Maybe Steve spent more than a few hours a day on the running track. Maybe Bruce disappeared for long periods of time in his room. Maybe Thor was less talkative. Maybe Clint was too. The missions still got done. They still co-existed under one roof. Barton let his head fall back against the wall behind him with a dull thud. 

Still friends. For the most part. 

Clint preferred to pretend he wasn't there. Of course, Clint also preferred to entertain the notion of target practice on various sections of the other's body. 

Which was a good reason for him to just not be around the guy. He had hoped not to be around the tower much at all--as was usually the case for him and Nat--but after the first few days, the Hawkeye had a sneaking suspicion Director Fury was passing them over _on purpose._ Clint wondered if he should go see Agent Coulson again in a day or so. 

Barton was the only one that hadn't really _seen_ the god since Thor brought him in. And he made it a goddamned point not to. Steve said something about him being an early riser. Clint didn't make it to the kitchen until eleven. When he's not in his room, Nat's noticed he spends a lot of time outside. Clint made friends with Stark's lounge and impossibly large television. And when he apparently started attending dinner--attending here having the meaning of grabbing a plate and settling in a counter of the main atrium--Clint let it go. Their schedules were late and sporadic. Clint usually ate earlier than they did, regardless. 

Barton wasn't some sentimental jackass. Saving each other’s lives on a daily basis was good enough camaraderie for him. 

Loki was not disrupting his life here. He wasn't going to let _anything_ uproot the simple existence they all had. The godling hadn't made a single dent in how they went about their days, and it was almost as if he had never come in the first place. 

Loki didn't affect him. 

Loki didn't matter. 

Some moments later, the quinjet touched down on a retractable launchpad near the peak of the tower. The Avengers, tired and stinking to high freaking heaven, lumbered off and wandered to the elevators. Barton closed his eyes, leaning heavily against the support bar within--pointedly ignoring Stark's quipping about his future mourning of his carpets and furniture. Bruce gave him a bleary smile, hand clamped firmly around Thor's bicep. The good doctor stepped off a floor early with the God. Regardless of his quick healing, Bruce never did let him get out of a once-over after a particularly bad beat down. 

When the rest of them reached Stark's posh living area, the billionaire wandered directly towards his bar--still clad in armor from the waist-down only. If Barton didn't feel like he was going to collapse from exhaustion, he would have damn well laughed himself sick. Cap retreated to the couches and looked for the entire world he was going to curl up there, clad in slime and his blue spandex, and pass out. 

He was considering flopping gracelessly on one of the black leather couches himself when he noticed Natasha standing rather still in the kitchen. 

The space was empty, other than the woman herself. When Barton wandered nearer, he noticed what she was staring so hard at. 

The call had come pretty quickly. He and Nat had been in the kitchen, finishing the last of the donuts from that morning--Stark was trying to unsuccessfully explain his multipurpose remote for the entertainment system to Steve, for the fourth time--Bruce was god-knows-where, and Thor was, apparently, with Loki. 

Fury called. They left. 

The table was now clear--whatever had been left of the donut box thrown away, and the unused napkins piled neatly beside what appeared to be a large carafe of water. Six glasses lined beside it. 

Now, Clint was ready to name JARVIS the culprit, but with a glance at Tony nursing his second drink, the thought of the billionaire opting for water in place of scotch was fucking laughable. That, and Tony Stark was not that thoughtful. 

If both he and Natasha helped themselves--the latter tiredly handing the half-asleep Captain America a full glass as they retreated to the couches--the convenience and exhaustion overruled his better judgment. 

The god wouldn't be stupid enough to try and poison them. 

It didn't matter. Not one bit.


	5. Man

He didn't like small spaces. 

Okay, maybe not small spaces--his own places he had kept in some parts of the world were pretty tiny and Spartan, he didn't like places with layers. He didn't like _buildings_. Where nothing but a good amount of steel bracers were keeping them upright, tons of cement and iron and carpet and _people_ all over the damn place. Just because it looks pretty, stretching miles high into the atmosphere doesn't mean it's a _good idea_ to make buildings that high. 

He wasn't too spooked about the Other Guy going on a rampage any time soon. He kept a cap on it with Pilates, yoga and Tai chi. Still. It was the _possibility_ that hung over his head. 

At the time, he was on board with Tony about this whole business--Bruce never appreciated being lied to, by anyone, let alone his would-be employers. He didn't even know Phil all that well. There was just something so betrayed on the faces of his teammates that made him jump on the chance to make Fury squirm. 

Hindsight is 20/20. He hadn't exactly set himself up for the most stress-free environment with their little hissy fit. The first few weeks were the worst. No one talked about it; of course, they all just kinda collectively ignored the suddenly strained air in the tower. Everyone did their own thing--as they're like to do, regardless--but no one was really talking. They shot the shit about stupid stuff, Tony made fun of everyone, Steve kept the peace, and Thor ate them out of house and home. Nothing special. It's just that, no one-- _no one_ \--even tried to talk about their newest roommate. Sure, Nat or someone would mention where the guy was, if he wasn't hidden away in his bedroom or something, but that was about it. 

It was like a ticking bomb. 

So, Bruce made himself scarce after a while. Just being in a room with all of them, and all those choked feelings and whatever; it made his blood pressure spike. He came back for that sense of calm his new friends seemed to give him. Not this crap. And that's the way it went for a while. Sometimes, he'd make his way down to the lab. Tony Stark was the champion of repression. He doubted he was the only one that knew what had happened in that cave--Nat and Clint _worked_ for the company that no-doubt debriefed him after all was said and done about the initial I-am-Iron-Man thing, and they had left it in his file, in the purest detail, during their initial 'assembling'--but one would never really know, looking at the guy. When he wasn't drunk, anyway. Which was rare. 

The point was, he could spend time with Tony. He may have been blatantly ignoring the mess going on upstairs too, but he didn't walk around like the floor was planted with land mines. Bruce could relax around him. And he was grateful. The rest of the time passed as normal. At least, as normal as their weird crime-fighting syndicate was. There were missions, and they handled them, and that was that. He'd met a good amount of weird characters along the way--Ben Grimm, for example. Ben was an okay guy, though. And he was more than willing to introduce himself to Dr. Richards. If he were more social, he might have accepted the invitation for lunch with him and Tony the last time they crossed paths. 

Maybe he'll go next time. Maybe. 

Life went on, like a parody of the relative peace they had lived in before Thor's murderous little brother started bunking with them. He had been looking at apartments in the city when he started coming down for dinner. The first night was pretty bad. It was like a movie, the second he walked in, conversation just died. He hovered in the kitchen, got his food, and slipped outside. Awkward. Bruce hadn't expected to see him the next night. Or the night after. But there he was. After a while, he started staying inside--away from the lot of them, in a corner or on the couches--silent as the grave. No one broke conversation anymore, though. They just kinda forgot he was there. Then he'd put his plate in the sink, and slink away. Sometimes, when someone moved a little too fast, he'd flinch. Like a beaten dog. Unnerving.

Things got a little easier, though. 

Like everyone could breathe once they noticed how much he didn't want to be around them either. Or something. That's what Tony said, after the fact. Bruce wasn't so sure. The guy _liked_ to talk, from what he remembered. Like some kid who never got enough hugs or something--he liked attention. They still weren't really talking about it. More like gossiping, when one of them happened to see him outside his room. It was all messed up. 

Bruce collapsed out of his sitting position, letting his back hit the floor, arms crossed over his face. He gave a low groan, letting his legs stretch out across the carpet. He had been trying to meditate for an hour. An hour. It wasn't even that he was particularly aggravated (more so than usual anyway) or anything, he was just restless. 

He was confused. 

About crap he desperately didn't want to be thinking about. 

Every time they came back from a mission now, there was a jug of water on the table. Last time, there were orange slices too. 

Honestly, since they did this to themselves, the most Bruce had been thinking about were his teammates. The volatile space had been getting to him, and while he focused on himself and keeping the Other Guy locked away, he was worried about them. Bruce wasn't an advocate for therapy. But all this self-imposed ignorance couldn't have been healthy. Hell, the skies had been stormy for a full _month_ , and he was almost missing Thor's loud, boisterous laughter in the tower. The guy always looked like someone had run over his puppy. 

That morning, Bruce had sought out the big guy down in the gym. He didn't necessarily _want_ to talk about his brother, but that happened to be the heart of the problem. 

_"So...has he even said anything?"_

_"...my brother is troubled, friend Bruce. I do not think he has truly been himself since our return from Asgard. He.."_

_The god shifted, frowning deeply at his knees._

_"..He seemed to see nothing. Hear nothing. As if his very essence was ripped out with his magic. For a time, I felt compelled to beg him to do--anything, raise his hand to me, lash his hatred upon me as he had before--give me some sign that my brother was still part of this world. The little hope I had was waning. I did not seek him out anymore."_

_They sat in silence for a long time. Thor turned to his friend._

_"...There were times my brother did not come with us to hunt, or into battle, on Asgard. He was injured, or other times his skills would be of no use to us. Those times incensed him the most. When we returned, victorious, or heavy with game, he was not there to greet us with the others._

_My comrades and I, the Warriors Three, and the shield maiden Sif, we would often retire to a common room, away from the din and celebrations, and toast ourselves in our honor. I never gave thought to the platters of fruit awaiting us, nor the mead and water placed with care among them. In the time we thought him dead...we returned from our hunts, and the table was always bare."_

Bruce wasn't sure if the big guy's resolve to keep after his brother was back or not. Despite himself, he kinda hoped it was. Maybe it meant the Loki wasn't completely over the cuckoo's nest. At least, not more than he already was. 

Bruce sighed, absently pushing open his door. He told himself it didn't matter. If Loki decided to stop being half-catatonic, then maybe Thor would start acting like himself again, and maybe the whole tower would breathe one giant sigh of relief and they could go back to the way they were before. 

Or something. 

He was padding down the hallway when he heard it. It occurred to him that he had actually almost forgotten what the guy's voice sounded like, it surprised him so much. 

"Tell me. What is your opinion of pigeons?" 

Loki's door was ajar. Bruce stopped, just outside, one shoulder against the wall. 

"Decidedly neutral. As long as they remain outside." 

There was a puff of air. Amused air. 

"They remind me of some of the avian life of Asgard. They're considerably more colorful...and healthy." 

"The common pigeon does seem to carry a considerable amount of disease."

Bruce finally leaned into the doorway, head tilted. 

"Not surprising...The fauna of Asgard, in all the higher realms, are seldom ill. Nor do they--separate themselves from us so." 

JARVIS. Loki was talking to _JARVIS_. He was seated on the floor, on the side of his bed facing the window. The balcony door was open, the cold, humid air drifting in. Loki was removing a dripping tea filter from a dark blue mug in his fist, placing it carefully out of sight beside him. 

"We've none of this--" The godling lifted a hand, and flicked it disdainfully at the wall of glass, "Window business...our glass works reserved for artwork, or other ridiculous finery..." 

The tone was familiar to Bruce. Mocking, superior. But was weak. Almost an insult to the robust, scathing voice of the man who had very nearly ended all their lives. Like he was _trying_ to cover the lost, haunted notes that punctuated every word. 

Trying and failing. Miserably. 

"Am I correct to assume the palace of Asgard is traditionally open air?"

"I suppose. ..The Allfather's brood is God to the elements. We had no fear of storms, or inclimate days. Morning, noon, night, the air always seemed agreeable...the air was always warm." 

"Would you be more comfortable if I raised the temperature in your room, Mr. Silvertongue?"

"--No." 

There was a pause. Loki sipped on his tea. 

"...No. That's done with now. It's all done with." 

"Very well, sir." 

Silence stretched again. Bruce felt torn--if he tried to go, he may make some kinda sound, and reveal to the god he'd been eavesdropping. And, on the flipside, he wanted to stay and see if he was gonna talk about anything else. 

Right when Bruce was about to vacate the hallway, Loki stood, apparently draining the rest of his mug. 

"JARVIS. Is there anyone in the kitchen?" 

"Mr. Rogers, sir, preparing a ham and cheese sandwich. Would you like me to heat more water for your tea, sir?"

"...No. No, I'll--go later." 

As Loki stepped out onto the balcony, Bruce finally started back down the hallway. When Steve asked if he wanted a sandwich too, Bruce declined--filling a thermos with hot water. As an afterthought, he snagged one of the French boxes of sugar cubes from the cabinet. Honestly, Tony, can't you buy Sweet 'n Low like the rest of us?

Loki was still on the balcony when he stuck his head in the room a moment later. He didn't even know the guy _drank_ tea, let alone what kind he liked. So he grabbed one of each. Which ended up being a pile of near 12 little tea filters on the nightstand in Loki's room. He placed the thermos next to them, and the box of sugar--eyes on the god's back all the while. 

As he crept out of the room, he weighed the new notion of avoidance in the tower. Was Loki ducking them. Or were they ducking Loki.


	6. God

The progression of this race confounded him. The last he had spent so much time around men, their lives were depressingly short ones, spent in wars, meat and worship. Then, he hadn't thought of it. They quaked beneath their power, and they were rewarded for their loyalty. Once, he had thought them deserving of so much pity. He had been convinced they would destroy themselves in their absence. 

For an age, he hadn't thought of them. 

And here he had returned to _this_. 

The small town his pride had banished him to was expected. Great stretches of dirt and dust, ignorant men and simple pleasures--all still so primal. He was shaken by their progression in empathy. Intelligence. What the son of Stark and dearest Jane call 'science'. By the Realms, they had so changed. 

Thor first saw the growth of man. He then witnessed the evolution of their creations. 

He hadn't been completely false in their self-destruction. It seemed most things men crafted were birthed purely to decimate. Even then. Oh, they had such _wonders_. 

Great metal beasts to grand them flight. Towers that stretched as high as Asgard's golden spires--and higher! Great slabs, run with glass, electricity, and Hela knows what--producing images in such _true_ detail that it was startling. Mail works and armor that not even Mjolnir can fracture (Tony seems to take some pride in this fact). Hundreds of technological oddities, most of which are used for luxury and comfort. They had come so far from their simple, dust filled lives he had remembered of Midigard. 

Thor had been humbled by their ingenuity. By their forbearance. By his own friends. Kings in their own rite. 

Delightful as this city of stone and glass had been, Thor found himself aching to seek out greener places from time to time. To see if there were still lands in this world, untouched by the bright, hard minds of men. Midigard had such a natural beauty once, one that rivaled his home. Now, all was gray. 

All he saw was gray. 

He sighed, his breath sliding across the glass, fogging it instantaneously. 

_You are stalling,_ something hissed in his mind. _Thor the Thunderer, hidden so in his chambers--like a child,_ it spat. 

The tone in his mind was of a painful familiarity. Thunder rumbled overhead. 

Yes. He was stalling. He turned the flat, glossy bonded paper in his hands, frowning uncertainly at the large block printing. 

He was ashamed. 

It had taken him far too long to recognize the knotted feelings in his stomach were unmistakably shame. And that they were well deserved. 

In his defense, there had been little he could do. At least, that's how it initially felt. How can one keep on conversation with another who is so frustratingly unresponsive? Who would not even _look_ at the speaking party, or acknowledge their presence? Who--wandered the halls as a ghost--shying from noises and movement like an injured bird? 

Yes. Thor had been angry with him then. 

Furious that nothing he seemed to say could reach him. That every attempt those first frosty days were lost on vacant eyes and haunted stares. If he had not looked so fragile, Thor would have shaken him to rattle his eyes from his head. 

On top of that, he was barely eating. He had scarcely seen him partake of anything but fruit and bread--ignoring calls to meals, leaving plates brought to him--by Thor--on his floors to rot. He spent far too much time in the cold--and Thor's mind was hardly in any place to stop the ever present storms drifting over the City of New York. At night, he could hear his brother restlessly walking his room--moving what little furniture he had, sometimes leaving and returning some minutes later. For hours. He didn't sleep those nights himself. 

His brother had become a shade. A body, a mass of flesh that held the face of someone he desperately loved and could no longer reach. 

It took a week for despair to break his fury. He did not seek out his brother anymore. Thor had never been the most patient of gods. 

Days spent in their training facilities. Night spent sleeping in a room some ways away from his brother--away from those soft footfalls in the dark. 

Away from grief. 

He saw him once or twice in the days that followed. He did not try to speak with him, lest his anger return and he unwittingly destroyed one of Stark's marble walls. He only sat with him. Or watched him gaze out upon the city with his dull, unseeing eyes. Perhaps Thor had been waiting. Waiting for his brother to come back. 

Then--oh, then--those precious flutes of water appeared when he and his friends would return from battle. He paid them no mind, the first few times. It was only when the lady Natasha made a passing comment about their 'homicidal houseguest' acting so very 'considerate' that he deigned to pay them heed. 

_How could he have been so blind?_

He agonized for days after. Reflecting, searching for answers-- _had he missed something, anything, a sign that his brother was not completely lost?_ \--and when his anger returned, another revelation hit him. Like a blade in his chest. 

Thor had never been angry with _Loki_. He had been angry with _himself_. It had seemed so simple--that he could deliver Loki to Midigard, and repair so much damage. Restore the fragile bridges between them, recover what had _been_ \--find that young, bright-eyed boy that had stood at his side since birth, and then..then they could return _home_. And it didn't stop there--no, it stretched further, far back, before Loki's fall, and his treachery ( _Before such an awful truth Thor could not bear to think of_ )--he was furious that he hadn't seen it _happening_. That he hadn't seen his own brother slipping through his fingers, into an abysmal madness from which there would be no waking. He hadn't _stopped it_. It was arrogance. It was pride. It was _stupidity_. 

Loki was not undeserving of punishment for the horrors he committed. But he had deserved far more than his brother had given him. Especially now. 

Thor looked again at the bundle of paper in his hand, a thumb pressed into the packed edge. He had seen one of these on the wall of Banner's room--garishly decorated with Midigardian cats. Once armed with the explanation and use of the thing, he subsequently asked where he might purchase one himself. The pages were black, the print in a bright, vivid green and white. It reminded him of Loki. It was a suitable choice. 

_All things can be mended._

He hesitated only a moment before knocking on the open doorway. Loki was, again, standing out in the cold, hunched against the balcony. He turned, almost too sharply, pale face betraying the apprehension tensing his shoulders.

Thor refused to feel hurt when Loki did not relax upon seeing him. 

He took a tentative step inside the room, eyes wandering to various points--there was a mess of paper spread across the desk, some pages scribed in old Midigardian Norse. His bed was a mess of sheets, and his nightstand stacked with pilfered books--and what looked to be a cylindrical container, the cap of it currently occupying one of Loki's thin hands. 

Seconds passed. Thor swallowed thickly. He stared at the pages in his hands, mouth suddenly dry--what use was such an object to someone who didn't seem to notice the passage of days at all? Who stared into others as if gazing into a void? Why had he thought this would ever interest his broken brother in the first pl--

"Did you want something."

Thor's head shot upwards at such a speed, it should have flown straight off his shoulders. 

Loki had stepped half into his room, one shoulder leaning into the glass panes, eyebrows raised. He stared at Thor-- _through him, still_ \--his body still stiff, poised to flee, but there was something in the wrinkle of his forehead, the light tilt of his shoulders, the clenching hand hanging by his side. For a moment, he nearly looked... _himself_. 

"Wh..what?" Thor managed. 

Loki took a breath, eyes darting to the floor-- _the mask slipping, the attempt tiring, painful, crumbling_ \--and then, he seemed to draw his shoulders upwards, neck lengthening, his gaze finding Thor's once more. 

"..I said. 'Did you _want_ something'. "

Thor hadn't imagined it. He hadn't simply fabricated Loki's voice ( _There is no substitution for such a sound in all the Realms_ ), out of some miserable hope. 

Gods. _Loki had spoken to him._

"..I.." He swallowed again, desperately fighting back every natural urge to rush his brother and crush him in his arms--or cry out in joy--"I have a gift. For you." 

Loki's brow furrowed. Barely. As if the muscle was twitching, trying to remember how to convey itself. 

"...a gift." 

"..Yes." Thor lifted the thing in his hands. "...It's--a calendium. Time passage here is familiar enough, but they...there are--" He opened the calendar with shaking hands, turning through the pages, trying not to let his strong, clumsy fingers rip the delicate edges. "Here--there are days of special recognition we do not have on Asgard. And their months, they've all but utterly changed since we last came here. There is even something called a 'Leaping Year', to account for an extra day every few years. I found that..rather amusing." 

Thor took a breath, staring at his brother. Loki had his eyes trained on the open calendar, his face utterly unreadable. Thor mourned for the expressive, deceiving lilts that had so often graced the corners of his eyes in the time before all this awfulness. More so, he mourned the smile that used to split his face like a thief’s blade glinting in moonlight. 

He was too pale. He was too thin. 

Just as Thor's hands started to sag under the weight of the paper, Loki's eyes lifted to his again. His head tilted further, those brave muscles about his brow pulling his skin again, his lips parting with them, in the barest whisper of a sneer. 

His eyes seemed to shine. 

_Oh, brother. Do you see me?_

A sound left his mouth, sharp enough to make the thunder God jump. Loki turned away, and miracle of miracles, those suddenly brighter eyes rolled towards the heavens--all these motions irresolute, unpracticed, but _Hela's blessed_ , there they _were_.

"Of course, only _you_ would present me with such a com _mod_ ity. Did you expect I would _appreciate_ the glaring reminder of my passing days on this spit of dirt?" 

"I did not think you would take offense--"

"No--you did not _think_." 

Thor stared at Loki's back, his face turned from him, and for the entire world, he could not look away from that place. This was not the scared, seemingly battered creature he saw haunting the halls. At least, not now. Not for these precious minutes--and he could _see him_ , starting to tremble with exertion over this new reserve. 

Thor backed towards the door again, placing the calendar on the desk as he passed. A hand on the doorframe, he looked quietly at his brother's form over his shoulder. 

"..The midday meal will be served soon. I would wish for you to join us, broth--"

" _Don't._ "

Green eyes stared back at him again--deep, vibrant, _cracked_ , somehow blazing in the shadowed face haloed in the window's whitish light-- _a warning, a challenge, a promise, eyes belonging to a cold and distant demi-God that meant to swallow whole worlds in that gaze_. 

Thor pulled the door shut behind him, and found himself leaning heavily on the wall across from the door. His body thrummed, as if he had just returned from some secret war, one he had barely escaped unscathed. 

Were he a more rational god, he may have thought himself mad at the pure elation coursing through his veins. Loki may have killed him with those eyes if he had the means to. Or perhaps not. And then, he realized, with a few short words, however scathing Loki had attempted to make them, Thor had hope. 

_Hope_. 

His brother _saw him_. His brother _spoke_ to him. 

He roughly wiped a cheek and turned towards the direction of the atrium--his mouth splitting suddenly in the first smile he'd had since returning to Midigard. 

By late afternoon, the clouds had thinned. The first silverish rays of light peeked through them, and for the first time in near two months, New York was bathed in the barest slip of sunlight.


	7. Metal

A nightmare. 

That--that was a generous way to put it. Not even one of those--chasing monsters, dark ominous shadows, or creepy uncle nightmares--no. 

It was like falling. 

That swooping, awful feeling--like someone took a melon-baller to your gut kinda thing. A _falling_ nightmare--and, as luck would have it, no one seemed to be waking from it. More than that, it was like they just didn't notice. No, really--the whole motley crew, dropping outta the sky, twisting in the wind--hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he turned and saw Bruce reading a magazine as they plummeted towards the ground. 

For some reason, Tony was the only one screaming his lungs out. 

Sort of. 

He wasn't _hiding_ from them, per say. He wasn't even ignoring them. Natasha usually made it her prerogative to point out how his mouth never stayed shut for very long--and that hadn't changed. Nothing had really changed. Tony spent long hours in his lab, regardless. The two assassins came and left, like always (God knows where they slinked off to, it's not like Fury's been calling them for their super-special-secret-missions all that much lately). Cap fought with the toaster oven. Bruce..hung around. Thor ate. And threw probably the biggest tantrums he had ever seen. Yeah, thunder rolled about when the God was pissed, but it had been _raining_. For _weeks_. On and off, but still. It was a constant sixty degrees in the city, in the middle of July. 

Who knew Gods could be that sensitive. 

The point being, life went on, and under all that 'normalcy' in the tower, his teammates were practically tripping over themselves to see who could ignore the lanky, leather fetishist, ex-god-shaped elephant in the room the most. Which he got. It wasn't _that_ mess that had him holed up in his lab well into the wee hours of the morning (lately). Honestly, he was all too used to spending exorbitant amounts of time around people locked carefully away behind smiles and pleasant greetings. That world was easy. It was simple, for someone who could play the game in essentially any way he wanted. 

Tony lacked the connection. Lacked 'personal'. 

It was an asset. 

Tony lightly fingered the elegant bottle in his hand, filled to the neck with Remy Martin Louis XIII Black Pearl. Not his favorite cognac, but. 

He knew it bothered Bruce. More than once, he found the doctor in some vacant part of the tower in some ridiculous tree pose, or twisted on the floor--taking those huge, 'calming' breaths. Tony didn't like yoga. _Watching it_ , in a room full of overly flexible co-eds was a different story, but that was neither here nor there. Bruce liked to clear his mind. Tony's was fine the way it was. Applied. On top of the copious amounts of twisty floor exercises, Bruce often occupied some corner of the workshop--not that he minded. The two shared space well. Tony would toil on his armor or other as sundry energy projects, and Bruce would fiddle with work he had apparently abandoned years ago. Sometimes, he'd agonize over the tower's defenses (JARVIS made his systems impenetrable thank you very much, Dr. Banner), or watch over his shoulder and let Tony bounce ideas off his brain. 

Bruce was springy in the brainmeat area. 

But, Jesus, for a guy harboring an unstoppable gargantuan jolly green giant, Bruce was a bleeding heart if he ever met one. When they weren't buried in their projects, he'd talk about the Avengers like a true mother hen. Steve said this, Nat did that, Clint's nesting in the attic, Thor doesn't _smile_ anymore. Tony had just listened. And maybe, he left to visit Coulson, first name Agent, every couple days or so. He had made a decision at the start of it all, and he wasn't about to backtrack before it blew up in his face. Because it wasn't _going to_. So having him there ruffled more than a few feathers (looking at _you_ , Clint). From what Tony could tell, the guy wasn't all that spear happy anymore. Hell, he didn't even make _eye contact_ most of the time. He had kept outta sight, to himself, and ignored them right back. 

Tony dropped a few ice cubes into a tumbler, the sharp clacks bouncing off the walls. 

This wasn't a problem. 

Tony didn't bat an eye at the water either. The others seemed to eye the offending jugs like they were gonna catch fire and sing Liberace. (He wouldn't have put it past the Trickster to _do that_ if his powers were knocking around.) It was just water. Tony doubted there was a 'good of his heart' he managed to do it out of. When he started making an appearance at dinner, Tony barely shrugged. Guy got hungry. It wasn't like he ate with them. Not really. It was just something else they adjusted to. Seeing more of their weird little prisoner than before. 

No problem. 

But then, Bruce had mentioned Loki had been talking. To JARVIS. 

Bruce was _wrong_ when he said he seemed mad. He wasn't _mad_. He was _cautious_. Emo-Kid couldn't affect the others (not anymore, sans glowing staff-thingy), they were all content with sulking in their private little ways--but JARVIS was...polite. Quippy on a bad day (more so on a good day), but JARVIS was _accommodating_. He didn't like the idea of his AI getting friendly with a psychopath that had jettisoned him out a window. That was why he pulled up the security feed. To make sure JARVIS was Liesmith proof. 

Tony hadn't been expecting a conversation about pigeons. 

It was after Bruce wandered back upstairs that he accessed the other logs, starting from Loki's first arrival. He sped up the feed for the first few days--all the godling seemed to do was sleep, sit around, and camp out on his balcony. The time stamp showed Loki spent hours at a time just standing at the railing, _staring_ at nothing. Even when it started pouring rain. He just stood there. 

Empty. 

Thor would show up from time to time, unsurprisingly--he slowed the feed to hear the various conversation, but it was mostly Thor talking _at_ his brother. He mentioned their mother. Their father. Some guy named Fander or something. And Loki just stood there. Tony sped the footage again--it was only a coincidence if the older God looked like he might cry. The conversation was boring. After a while, Thor stopped coming. Loki started moving more. He'd leave sometimes--coming back with fruit or water. He’d camp out at the desk; scribbling god knows what on the stationary Tony had left there. He'd pace. Sometimes, he wouldn't bother getting out of bed. He'd lay there, a full day, curled in white sheets. He pulled up a separate feed in the main atrium for the times Loki would leave his room. Tony watched him wander the kitchen, the living area--palm a book or two, and retreat back to his hidey hole, or outside. He watched himself and his team leave for a mission. Tony had rubbed his forehead, eyes shut, the feed slow enough to hear the mute clinking of glasses and water filling a pitcher. It hadn't exactly been a mystery, but there was something about the proof of seeing him _doing that_ with his own eyes. 

Then, one day, Loki rose and started wandering his room. Tony slowed the feed again, and watched as Loki seemed to inspect every corner, running his hands over the plaster, his nose inches from it. For all the video Tony had already seen, it was the first time he saw something other than the carefully blank expression Loki wore. His brow was crinkled lightly, with some hint of concentration. When he moved away from the wall, he looked directly upwards and seemed to swallow. 

_"...hello?"_

When JARVIS's familiar voice echoed the greeting (punctuated with a "Mr. Odinson" and the ever present, "how may I help you"), Loki just about jumped out of his skin. Tony laughed. 

When Loki got a hold of himself, his scratchy voice asked who the AI was. The following explanation was long, as always, as JARVIS introduced himself in full. While it was mostly lost on the former God, he seemed to understand the omnipresent voice meant no harm. JARVIS asked again if he needed anything, again using the surname Odinson. 

Loki twitched. 

The following was a negotiation over Loki's preferred name. Tony snorted when JARVIS didn't take to simply calling him 'Mr. Loki'. But when he settled on 'Silvertongue', the billionaire was certain there was a glint of victory in Loki's eyes. 

What followed was just bizarre. JARVIS took the liberty of giving the godling an impromptu verbal tour of the tower (underlining that the workshop was off limits to the little chiseler), and then--Tony had his head leaning heavily into his palm on his desk--talked Loki through the stove, the kettle, and Tony's tea choices in the cabinets. 

They went quiet by the time Loki had wandered back to his room. He stood at his window, blowing idly on the steaming cup of tea in his hands, face blank once more. Just as Tony was about to speed up the footage, Loki lifted his head. 

_"JARVIS?"_

_"Yes, Mr. Silvertongue?"_

_"...thank you."_

_"You're welcome, sir."_

Tony likened the whole affair to a breaking dam. The first few times Loki conversed with the AI were stilted, awkward. Like he was physically pushing himself to open his mouth and form words. 

Practice makes perfect, though. 

After the first month, Loki was a regular chatty freaking Cathy. And did he talk about the most inane crap. It didn't stop at pigeons, but the kind of 'domestic animals midigardians kept', why New York was such an epicenter, the fall of the Roman empire, the _internet_. Sometimes, he talked about Asgard. Once, he mentioned his brother. 

They used to sneak away during the hotter months and swim with his friends (Thor's friends) in some 'secluded grotto'. JARVIS helpfully mentioned the pool in the gym. From what he could tell, Loki never went to see it. 

Tony hadn't noticed how long he'd been staring at the screens. He had been so engrossed, he hadn't noticed Bruce had come back (God knows how long ago, how the hell does he manage to be so damn quiet) until he saw him standing by his shoulder. 

The Loki on the feed was talking about those damn pigeons again. 

Bruce removed his glasses. Something painful in his stare. 

"...it's like he's practicing." 

"..What." Tony flippantly paused the feed, and proceeded to wipe the video from sight. 

"Practicing. Like--he's trying to remember what his own voice sounded like. That sharp edge, you know, " He weakly gestured the blank monitor, shrugging. "Like he doesn't know how to do it anymore." 

Tony swiveled in his chair, eyes trained on the floor. 

"..Practice makes perfect." 

"--What?"

Tony waved a hand, and stood--headed for the stairs. 

"I'm turning in--places to see, things to go, people to d--" 

"Hey, Tony--"

"Don't work too hard, Brucie. Shouldn't you get those eight hours or something? Staying up late, not healthy." He slipped out before Banner could call him back again. He barely slept. 

Tony sighed, rolling his neck a bit. The ice shook dully as he lifted the glass to his mouth, on his second helping of cognac. 

The curious feeling of falling. 

It was his own damn fault. He had let it in. He had let it all in. 

Tony turned towards the windows leading out onto the large, impressive landing outside. He hadn't been the only one surprised to find _sunlight_ bleeding through the clouds for the third day in a row. Tony didn't do breakfast most days. He didn't see a soul until around noonish or so. But the assault of yellowish light had drug him from a particularly _incredible_ dream involving supermodels and chocolate syrup. His recounting of it, in detail, wasn't met well with the equally groggy team in the kitchen earlier (if Steve's violent blush was anything to go by). 

The rest had congregated on the couches some ways away, blearily watching the news. Tony stepped to the glass doors to the outside. 

He suspected the man seated on the white planter outside, leisurely nibbling at an apple, hadn't slept at all. 

A breeze ruffled the black, curling hair--catching the black shirt that hung off his slight shoulders. 

_Practice makes perfect._

With a glance to the team on the couches, Tony `placed his glass on the edge of the bar and fluidly pushed open the door. 

Green eyes snapped to his instantly, as he stepped further onto the landing. Focused. Aware. Comprehending. Tony's lips quirked. 

Good. 

"Hey. Sad sack." He turned, shoulder tilting towards the glass doors behind him, a hand lifted. 

Whatever Tony might have said--whatever Loki might have done--was lost, the moments swallowed by the sudden shadow that blocked out the sun like volcanic smoke. 

Tony barely had time to call for cover when the first screeching missile shattered the glass of the atrium, giving way to an explosion that was all fire and marble.


	8. Ice

_Fracture.  
  
Precious, twisting lines, threading, slicing, paper thin ravines--hemorrhaging beneath so much pink skin. The depth of them, the piercing, spreading sting in every awful crevice.   
  
Bile in his throat.   
  
He had been shrieking all the while. Behind tight, closed lips.   
  
Does this silver tongue still remember how to curl such pitiful noises into words? _

  
  
Face pressed into marble, into rubble, sharp in the flesh--there's a hand on his back, pulling, pushing, and his feet find brittle ground again. Smoke. Voices. Blocked by an incessant ringing, ringing, ringing--

  
  
_Lead.  
  
Everything was lead.  
  
There were shadows everywhere he looked. His eyes were tunneled, letting the barest of light there--tightening not only around his eyes, but his arms, his feet, his throat.  
  
Where were your sharp flyts now, Snake.   
  
The shadows moved, at times. Just at the corners of his faded sight, nipping at his fingers, at his nose, like frost.   
  
That cold was a lie. _

  
  
He was pressed back into that scree covered floor, another blast vibrating under his body--detonating somewhere else. The ringing is fading. That hand pulled him back up again.   
  
Glass littered the floor, stone and shattered remains of material possessions. The hand shoved him further over the debris, his heart hammering painfully, uncertain if he was being led towards the danger or not. Smoke choked protest from his mouth. The others were moving--his chest tightened at the sight of blood, blackened flesh, strained voices in the brown haze. He saw them pushing the large black couch that had turned over them on impact.  _Banner was not standing._  
  
The hand pushed him down by what was left of the kitchen counter. Glass dug into his knees and the bare balls of his feet--near unnoticed by his burning eyes and throat. A bright, whitish glow was half pressed to his cheek, the hand then an arm curled over his shoulder, the owner shouting. The glint of that colorful shield rushed past him--the owner's voice trying to bellow over the fog and still smoldering walls.   
  
The man against him spoke to the top of his head( _Stay down_ ),and left--some wall opening nearby, JARVIS speaking--barely speaking, garbled in all the noise--  
  
The air was clearing--the winds from their altitude rushing the smoke out through the shattered walls of glass--steps shuffled by him, the Hawk leaning heavily on the assassin-- _trails of blood, blood behind them--_ his eyes flitted about, blinking water from his sight-- _Banner, get up, damn you--_  
  
There was gun fire out on the landing--the soldier's voice calling again--calling for--  
  
He stood, glacial panic( _agonized, stricken, **furious**_ ) churning through his gut--  
  
" _THOR!_ "  
  
His throat bled at his name, he could feel it, but he called again, shrieked over the chaos-- _where, where, where--_  
  
Fingers dug into his shoulder, crushing the bone, and they forced him to the ground again. He whirled, struggling--and stilled at the fierce blue eyes boring into his.   
  
 _Oh, Norns. Scarlet stained his blond scalp, forehead, beard--_  
  
A flash of red and gold rushed past them, the telltale roar of the armor's thruster's sending Stark into the fray. The building gave another shudder.   
  
He heard his name from that mouth, and his own fingers dug into the bruised bicep. The soldier was still calling for him. That great hand left his shoulder, finding the(all the old familiar places) back of his neck. ( _Stay here. Stay safe._ )  
  
A green blur tumbled by them.  _Damn you, Banner._  
  
Then Thor was gone. 

  
  
_That darkness lingered.  
  
He could feel their eyes on him, always, and he waited. Every twitch, every quiet step, he waited, and he watched.  
  
But the blows never came.   
  
They should have, he thought. They were mortal. They were of men. Retribution is their nature.   
  
It took an age to realize how unnatural they truly were. 'Lost creatures'.   
  
They allowed him passage. They allowed him freedom. They allowed him  **life**.   
  
'So magnanimous', a familiar voice hissed, somewhere out of sight in his mind.   
  
Gratitude had never tasted so sour.   
  
Solitude was a gift, one he coveted more greedily than anything they silently provided him. Sustenance, clothing, four walls to call his own however temporarily. The absence of pain and further punishment would have been enough. They did not mock his mortality. (' _Always rather be hated than pitied._ )  
  
And there had been Thor.   
  
He could see him through the ever present darkness ( **Void** , the voice pressed), mumbling names, memories, family ('they were never yours'), causing his rage to pound violently at the cage holding it under his skin. ( **Monster**.)  
  
His body was granite. His mind was stone. Thor eventually left him to the dark as well. Slowly, the cold roots of fear loosened. The tunnel widened.   
  
He could feel in his fingertips again. His nerves recognized the pelting rain again. His tongue unlocked.   
  
There had never been a place within him that understood regret. Atonement simply wasn't part of his constitution. His honesty went punished in his childhood, for the lack of such conviction. The first lies he learned.   
  
He was not sorry. But he was appreciative. Grand gestures were a thing of Asgard. The small, near irrelevant actions were things he cherished. So, he thanked them. In his own little ways.   
  
Day by day, his body began to recover things he had forgotten. The natural rigid line of his shoulders. The uncurled neck. The fluid, gentle movings of his hands.   
  
Exhausting, when every shard he could find gave him little comfort.  
  
Fractured.   
  
There was certain contentment in watching these mortals. The Avengers. Prideful, subdued, damaged things they were. Every darkened look. Every disdainful eyebrow. Every hysteric laugh. Bright, lively eyes--a flash of teeth in a smile. For a while, he could forget the space in his chest, where the still bleeding strands of what once clung to his magic pulsed quietly. He felt for them instead.   
  
And it left him ill.   
  
Regardless. What else did he have left?_

  
  
Breathe. Breathe.   
  
The harsh noise of battle had been echoing for what felt like an age. Gunshots, the twang of bow string, blasting, the roars of the beast, the soldier's wavering calls--  
  
There were  _things_  crawling over the landing. Once, they may have been human. Lumps of twisted, mutilated skin, metal glinting under the flesh--four additional legs, stretching like a spider's limbs, with  _hands_ , wielding weapons--  
  
The din started to fade. He was vaguely aware of the soldier's voice again, something about 'bystanders' and 'ground floor'--  
  
Before long, the landing was empty. The battlements further away.   
  
Dust and rubble settled. Nearby, plaster tumbled to the ground and shattered.  _Breathe._  He shakily stood once more, and with a breath, started walking for the landing. The carpet was blazing in places. The walls blackened, exposed circuits and wires crackling. He ducked a light fixture, dangling by what was left of its cord imbedded in the ceilings, leaving small, slight, bloody prints behind him. The sun was eclipsed still, by an ominous floating hovercraft. Creature bodies lied in the destruction.   
  
He stood, at the broken precipice, and gazed down, down, down.   
  
Those  _things_  swarmed. Like insects. It twisted his stomach. (Haven't we been here before?) The others, they fought to contain them to the square of Stark's building. The aforementioned Man of Iron darting between structures, blasts of white erupting from his hands. The Spider and the Soldier stood ground there, the shield flying where it could. A speck atop a low building was the Bird, felling creatures on the ground.   
  
Thor was surrounded by them ( _Imbecile_ ), Mjölnir swinging wildly. The Beast was everywhere, propelling from ground to building to ground, creatures flying every which way in his wake.   
  
The God had seen many wars in his thousands of years in the realms. After so long, you grow a sense for them. The Aesir tended to celebrate victory before it was well and truly won. And they prepared long before loss reared its ugly head.   
  
The Beast. The flying Iron man hadn't seen three of the things jumping for him midair. More rushed the Soldier and Spider.   
  
There was a booming, the ground shaking well through the tower--he leaned over the edge, lip curling over his teeth. Thor, in desperation, had punched Mjölnir through to the sewers. The things meant to drag him down with them.   
  
There was another figure there. Floating gently down from the ship overhead on a bronze colored platform, four others behind him--hulking figures, a good two heads above him. His voice boomed over the din, the words still lost on the God at this height. Still. There was a grin behind his speech.   
  
Loki turned on his heel, jaw clenching.   
  
"JARVIS."   
  
"Y--s, Mr. Silver-ongue?"   
  
"Show me how I may reach the 'ground level'."   
  
\---  
  
"Nat, at your two o'clock!"   
  
The assassin snapped her cartridge into her gun, turned, and shot--cleanly blasting the crown off the thing attempting to rush her and the Captain. Her eyes flitted again to the newest arrival--Clint trying to send arrows into his skull.   
  
"Where's Stark? We need to take him out--" She let another rapid string of bullets into three more of the creatures.   
  
Steve twisted, shirt torn, blood seeping into the fabric on his back. Thor still hadn't reappeared from the hole in the pavement--the Hulk was beating off a swarm down the street-- _they had no warning, no time to regroup or prepare, no commlink_ \--  
  
"We need to travel--tell Clint to cover us, get us closer to him--if you see Tony, give him the signal to take this guy down--" Steve adjusted his shield, the metal loop digging into his bare arm. Natasha gave a few wordless signals to Clint on his perch, and together, they plowed the way towards the floating platform.   
  
Halfway down the block, Tony Stark hit the asphalt, skidding--spider-man-mutants clawing at his armor-- _chewing on it with malformed teeth_ \--he flung one of them away, the two others getting faces full of mini-missiles. A roar echoed overhead, the Hulk jumping from a building to another, crushing monsters in his hands. Red warnings flashed across his vision, thrusters beginning to fail, JARVIS in his ear--they had actually done damage to the suit--He was getting into the air when he heard the Hulk again. He was leaping from a ledge towards-- _where the hell did that come from_ \--some platform, and some guy--when a whole mess of those spider guys crashed into him. Brick and plaster exploded from the Hulk's body, the structure almost immediately giving way--Tony took off from the ground, barely managing to snag the strap of Barton's quiver to keep him from crashing into the ground. They landed next to the rubble, the Hawk leaning on him--his leg still messed up from the explosion in the tower.   
  
"What the hell--"  
  
"They just took out Bruce--"  
  
"What--?! How did--"  
  
"Dropped a building on him--"   
  
"TONY!"   
  
Both men twisted at the Cap's voice--he and Natasha were fighting their way towards that damn floating platform. Between the six of them they had thinned out the numbers of monsters, but there were still too many. With a nod, Tony took off again, Barton leaning against a shard of cement, sending arrows at the spider-mutants in his path. He let blasts from his hands, ignoring the flashing red warnings before his eyes-- _Natasha had one of those things on her back_ \--just a few more yards-- _Steve was swinging his shield, but he wasn't getting any closer--he was trying to cover Nat_ \--one of his missiles armed, JARVIS targeting his chest--  
  
One of the big guys stepped in Tony's fire line. He switches the thrusters to curve him around and re-aim--but he lifted a huge, metal-dotted hand and swung.   
  
There was an awful metal  _clang_ , and Steve turned to see the Iron Man hurling violently towards the pavement--his helmet in shards, clattering noisily to the ground. The golem that had swatted him down stepped off the platform, and started towards Steve. The monsters weren't attacking anymore. He heard a pained grunt behind him--Natasha suddenly appearing at his right, a gnarled hand on her shoulder, keeping her to the ground. Barton joined her a moment later.   
  
A scrape of metal told him Tony was being dragged nearer, some of the creatures wandering into the crushed building for Bruce. Down the street, he could see them pulling a half-conscious Thor from the sewers.   
  
The golem paused before Steve, its face a twisted mess of flesh, the mouth gone, and the eyes reddened and bloodshot. The super soldier could barely stand, let alone defend himself from whatever was coming.   
  
"And thus fell the mighty Avengers." A voice floated behind the golem. The figure was robed, his arms bare--the flesh there twisted about metal and god knows what. He was as grotesque as his creatures, if not more. "I'm not going to kill you. Not really. I've been watching you all, for some time--and I coveted."   
  
It couldn't end this way. It couldn't be over.   
  
"I found you all well deserving. I will perfect you. Don't think of it as a death. Think of it...as a rebirth. "   
  
The golem lifted a hand.   
  
A muted  _thud_  stopped his moving. The golem slowly looked down at himself.   
  
Something protruded from his shoulder.   
  
 _Thud--thud--thud_.   
  
The golem fell backwards, eyes glazed, four white, jagged points stuck in its chest. Steve slowly turned, every movement painful. Beside him, Natasha and Barton were staring, open mouthed over their shoulders.   
  
Loki stood on an overturned piece of pavement, arm outstretched, a blue steam rising from his fingers. His head was tilted down, features twisted. He stepped off the edge of the pavement, landing gracefully, and started walking towards the fallen team. The fluidity of his movements, the strength in his gait--the small, cringing man utterly gone. All of him demanded respect. All of him screamed  _God_.   
  
"..Kill this one." The man muttered behind them.   
  
The creatures standing guard over Steve, Clint and Natasha rushed the godling-- _God, don't, he's not--_  
  
Steve gaped further when Loki effortlessly shot forward, fingers curling around the head of one of the mutations, and sent him violently into the ground. The other two swung the blades in their extra limbs--and Loki blocked, with what looked like a crystalline sword that had appeared out of thin air. With a few well-placed strikes, one of them fell--and Loki almost seemed to take  _pleasure_  in carelessly lopping the head off the last. He stood straight again, flicking the brownish blood from his weapon. His eyes finally fell on the three Avengers before him.   
  
An eyebrow lifted.   
  
"..I would suggest moving out of the way."   
  
Now unhindered, Natasha stood, wrapping an arm around Clint's waist. Steve stared a moment more, torn--but moved to Barton's other side to help Nat get him to the sidelines.   
  
Tony was lying nearby, half propped against a light post. He had regained full consciousness at some point, and sat, frowning at the godling standing among the rubble.   
  
The slight man turned, barely, glancing about at the damage like one would a particularly boring art gallery. His brow pinched, displeased,  _bored_. He even  _sighed_.   
  
"I understand imitation is the purest form of flattery. You'll forgive me if I am anything  _but_."   
  
The man on the platform stepped forward.   
  
"You are of no use to me. Your skills are commendable, however. If you leave now, I won't let my children kill you."   
  
" _Your children_. Midigardians  _manufacture_  monstrous brood here. Hm." His expression darkened. "Funny world."  
  
"It is a grave misstep, keeping me from my experimental subjects--"  
  
" _No_." Loki lifted his head, his voice dripping venom,  _promises_. "The misstep was yours. When you decided to antagonize my  _kith and kin_."   
  
"I--"  
  
"I care little for who you are, or your intentions. Mortals play with such strange toys. You are no better than these other useless, squabbling children." Loki shrugged, easily, mockery lacing his words like sugar and arsenic. "Take comfort. My pity for you is  _great_. I will give you one chance to take your  _mutilated pounds of flesh_  and go."   
  
The man's face was blown red, veins twitching in his temple.   
  
Loki smiled.   
  
The man snapped his fingers.   
  
The three remaining golems leapt off the platform, landing mere feet from where Loki stood. One by one, the remaining spider-mutations dropped down beside them, forming a wide circle around the god.   
  
Steve swallowed, now crouching near Tony, (who seemed to breathe 'Christ' when the last of the monsters settled).   
  
Loki turned, circling lazily, calm etched across his features. He finally turned back towards their ringleader, and stretched the fingers of his free hand. That blue steam wafted from the digits, and the currently conscious Avengers watched as another long, thin blade seemingly grew out of his flesh. The steam seemed to lick over his hands, and in its wake--to the shock of them all--the skin started to turn. Color bled over his wrists, disappeared under the long-sleeved shirt, and appeared again, engulfing his neck, jaw, cheeks, ears--those electric green eyes blinking out of existence, now red. All  _glowing, impossible red_ , framed in deep, blue flesh.   
  
He idly twirled one of the swords, his shoulders jerking with a small, light scoff.   
  
" _Please_."   
  
Chaos broke.   
  
Tony blinked, his vision still somewhat doubled (probably concussed or some other stupid thing), watching as the monsters tried to swarm (BLUE) Loki. Cap's hand was on his shoulder, hovering as Tony tried to push himself to his feet. The two of them practically dove to the ground again as a decapitated mutation went flying over their heads.   
  
Natasha stood with Clint. Bruce was coming around at her feet. And Thor--Tony's gaze locked on Thor. The big guy was awake, Mjölnir in his fist--but God if he didn't look like a strong breeze could tip him over. He was staring at the fight. Painfully. Yeah. Tony was pretty sure the godling was gonna get himself killed too.   
  
But then the crowd seemed to thin. Bodies hit the ground again and again, headless with transparent shards dug into various parts of them. They could eventually see Loki between his assailants, expertly wielding his blades, his blows clean, precise,  _fatal_. Loki was  _brutal_. Like he meant to crush souls as well as snuff out their lives, and by God, if he didn't look like he was capable.   
  
 _Loki was a God._    
  
The last of the spider-mutations fell, its head tumbling before the God's feet. He savagely kicked it away. Loki turned, a cheek spotted with brownish blood, panting. The golems watched him, warily. One was already injured. He lifted his head, white teeth glaringly bright against his almost purplish lips.  
  
"... _Well_?"  
  
They were on him in seconds. The injured one fell first, one of Loki's swords stuck cleanly through his neck. The others were stronger. And Loki was breathing more and more heavily. His bare feet left heavy smears of blood on the pavement, his strikes not nearly as precise.   
  
Thor shakily stood off to the side, adjusting his grip on the hammer.   
  
Loki knocked one of them to the ground, and turned, fending off the others--being driven back, their swings strong and near unblockable. He was so focused on them, he failed to see the third rise to his feet again, fingers curled around a fallen blade from one of the dead mutations.   
  
Thor couldn't breathe.   
  
"LOKI--!"  
  
The blade sunk into his side, ripping the space between his ribs. Loki cried out, momentarily stunned--one of the golems knocked him back, the blade pulling out with a sickening pop. The closest golem started for him, bloody knife in hand, hand outstretched, reaching for his neck. Thor raised his hammer.   
  
 _Twang. Thud._  
  
A breath. The golem had stilled. The arms went limp, the knife clattering noisily at Loki's feet. The god stared, breathing harshly, at the long, black shaft now protruding from the golem's forehead. The body fell with a crash.   
  
Thor stared wordlessly--eyes snapping to the bowman on the ground, his weapon still raised.  
  
Loki leapt over the body in front of him, and rushed the two remaining golems. One fell, caught by surprise. Loki's resolve was waning, his side pulsing, his shirt growing wetter with every move. The golem hit home on the wound, dropping the god to his knees with a gasp. He tried to stand. His throbbing feet wouldn't hold him. Another figure was by the golem now--Thick fingers wrapped around his throat, and Loki blinked up at the face above him, blood tricking from a corner of his mouth.   
  
He smiled, teeth incased in silver. Loki lifted a hand, weakly gripping the wrist of the hand on his neck.   
  
"Game over." The man's breath was foul. Loki's fingers tightened around the arm. "Perhaps I will keep you. You can be my new pet project."   
  
The god blinked, willing darkness from his eyes, struggling for breath. Blue steam rose from the fingers wrapped about the other's arm.   
  
"How does that sound?"   
  
All at once, the smile on his face dropped away. The metal in his arm was creaking. The skin felt needle pricked, then on  _fire_ , and when he looked--the flesh was all but black--the color climbing up his arm like an infection. He locked briefly with the red eyes below him, a scream on his lips.   
  
Loki's grin was full of blood.   
  
The God all but broke the man's arm  _off_ , metal flying with bone and flesh--the pieces hitting the pavement and shattering like  _ice_.   
  
The golem moved forward, but Loki turned, another translucent blade in his hand and shoved it ruthlessly into the other's mouthless face.   
  
The body fell. The other laid on the ground, in shock, cradling what was left of his limb.   
  
Loki stood, hand curling around the still gushing hole in his ribs. His gaze wandered over the still very much alive Avengers. He seemed to linger on Thor, something unreadable in those red eyes.   
  
He coughed, blood spurting from his mouth. And he hit the ground. Hard.   
  
"Loki--" Thor stumbled to his brother's side, Mjölnir dropping heavily. His heavy hands cradled the Trickster's head, his other hand moving to help compress the hole in his side. Loki hissed in pain, blinking rapidly.   
  
"Brother--brother, look at me--"   
  
The godling sputtered, somehow managing a wry smile. Darkness tunneled his eyes again. He was never meant for any light, it seemed. Peace was temporary. His allowances had ended.   
  
"You..c'n bear to touch me like this..to l..look on me, Thor."   
  
"Loki--you are my  _brother_ , what care I for flesh, when you lie  _bleeding_ \--"   
  
Other voices clamored over his head. Another crouched by his side, another pair of hands prying his and Thor's back--( _We need to get him inside--now--_ )  
  
He felt his body lifted from the ground, his mutilated feet dragging behind him. Banner's hand pressed into his side now. His voice in his ear. ( _Stay with me, okay, you're gonna be fine._ )  
  
Thor's arms tightened around his chest, and they were moving. Shadows danced before his eyes. All was falling away.  _Finally done._  
  
"I will not lose you, Loki--"  
  
Loki smiled, blood and spittle dripping down his chin. His sight slipped away.   
  
" _You are a **fool** "._


	9. Blood

_Beep._  
  
 _Beep._  
  
 _Beep._  
  
  
The room was cold. Impossibly so, almost arctic. It was worse at night. 

  
  
 _"His heart rate is dropping--someone, give me something for a compression--"_  
  
 _"JARVIS, hurry it up--prep the medical floor--"_  
  
 _Bruce's hands were steady as he shredded what was left of Barton's sweatshirt, balling scraps against the wound, and then wrapping his whole torso as tight as he could._  
  
 _Steve shifted, Barton's arm slung over his shoulder. The Hawk watched the lax body hanging between the men beside him._  
  
 _"Tony, where's the goddamn elevator?!"_  
  
 _Bruce swore._  
  
 _"Shit--put him down--"_

  
  
He almost seemed to breathe out cold air. Unsettling, but it meant he was still with them. Unconscious, but here. 

  
  
 _Ding._  
  
 _"Move, move, move--Thor, put him down, now!"_  
  
 _Five bodies slid into the wide elevator, Steve pressing against the back wall with Clint, Tony in the opposite corner. The God lowered his brother as gently as he could._  
  
 _"What is h--?"_  
  
 _"He's not breathing."_

  
  
Natasha hadn't been there when they'd almost lost him. She had stayed outside, guns drawn, waiting for S.H.I.E.L.D. to finally show up. Clint had told her after the fact. Bruce had, apparently, worked on him the whole way up to the med wing. He got a mouth full of blood for his trouble, but at least his patient had sucked in air by the time they reached the right floor. It didn't last long. He had crashed again on his way to surgery.   
  
The assassin shifted, re-crossing her legs.   
  
When she had stepped off the elevator, her teammates, minus Bruce, were seated in the more open area, being treated for their various burns and injuries--by Stark's private army of doctors. She gave the word that Fury was on his way up, and sunk heavily into a bed by Clint. The silence that followed was heavy. But, as always, the billionaire was the first to break it. 

  
  
 _"..Okay, so--I guess I'll say it." He turned, waving away the nurse dabbing alcohol at his shoulder. "What the hell was that."_  
  
 _Thor lifted his head, startled from his thoughts. All eyes locked on him._  
  
 _"I thought you said his magic went poof."_  
  
 _"..His magic was removed on Asgard, yes."_  
  
 _Barton snorted._  
  
 _"Making glass swords grow out of your hands sure as hell looks like magic."_  
  
 _"Yeah--and the blue thing, normal humans don't exactly turn blue on command, big guy."_  
  
 _Thor's gaze turned towards the ground. Tear tracks glaringly apparent on his dirty face, shoulders hunched, he looked so utterly small._  
  
 _"...They were not glass. They were ice." His voice wavered. "I informed you that my brother is adopted, have I not?"_  
  
 _Nods, murmuring confirmation._  
  
 _"Loki...is a Jotun. A Frost Giant. Their king Laufey's son. My father..found him abandoned, long ago, after their victory over Jotunheim. A 'runt', he said. He wears what they call a 'glamour', an illusion of Aesir skin. It seems, Loki has always worn it, an unconscious magic--none but Odin and Frigga knew of his heritage. Not I." He swallowed. "Not Loki. He is angry, shameful of his true face. Odin granted him that small mercy."_  
  
 _A pause. Thor lifted his head at last, eyes glassy._  
  
 _"I do not think my father could remove the Jotun blood in him, if he had ever meant to. It--it would be to try and remove your glowing heart, Stark. Or any part of you--of all of you--that makes up the entirety of one’s physical self."_  
  
 _His eyes dropped again. He gave a broken sound, almost a laugh, tears spilling over his cheeks._  
  
 _"I f..I found myself grateful, out there--that he was one of them. I should only be thankful that he is my brother."_  

  
  
Natasha idly scratched the corner of the bandage on her neck. Bruce had reappeared a few hours later. Loki was stable. Broken ribs, punctured lung. They'd know if there was nerve damage, or brain damage, when he woke up. Which could be days. He wasn't in a coma, miracle of miracles. But before anyone, namely Thor, could go to see him, Director Fury stepped off the elevator. Thor nearly took out a wall.   
  
The debriefing wasn't easy. Fury had identified their attacker as Dr. Stilo, a crazed genetic physicist that, according to what she remembered from his file, had vanished near twenty years ago. Seemed he'd been busy all that time. And he had targeted the Avengers as his newest projects. Then, the subject turned to Loki. It was difficult to convince Fury that he had basically saved all their skins. It was even more difficult to convince him he wasn't a threat after showing him the surveillance footage. 

  
  
 _"So, what you're telling me--is that we have a 90lb Frost Giant with the capability of taking down over two dozen genetically engineered spider-mutations without breaking a sweat--not to mention the power to wield ice-based projectiles--who harbors a hate for mankind like I've never **seen** \--and you want to tell me he isn't dangerous?" _  
  
 _"My brother fought with valor, more so than anyone I've seen here, or on Asgard--without him, we would be lost."_  
  
 _"And that does nothing for my blood pressure."_  
  
 _"Sir," Barton sat up on his cot, "They shot missiles, while we were in the middle of breakfast. They got the jump on us, a big one--I don't know how JARVIS didn't pick up on the giant floating death balloon hovering over the tower in the first place--"_  
  
 _"Not my fault." Tony lifted his hands. "Cloaking device. Or, really, the DOS version--scrambled coding, some kinda hidden signal, and my system picked it up as harmless FM radio waves. Which--reminds me, I should probably get a look at that, so it doesn't happen again--"_  
  
 _"Not a chance. The hovercraft has been confiscated for further investigation by S.H.I.E.L.D."_  
  
 _"Uh, okay--I'll take care of it myself, no problem."_  
  
 _"Stark,"_  
  
 _Tony shrugged._  
  
 _"No, really, it'll what--take me three, four hours with the new firewall? You know, I hear Norton is a really good security system, in fact--it might actually do a better job compared to the coding you've put up now--"_  
  
 _"Stark, if I get one whiff of you in my goddamned system, I'll--"_  
  
 _"Loki isn't dangerous." Steve stood from his chair, torso and arm wrapped in gauze. "He had every opportunity to turn those powers on us, and he didn't. He kept us from getting mutilated in a lab somewhere."_  
  
 _"And what makes you think he won't turn on you when he's back on his feet."_  
  
 _"He's been here for almost three months." Natasha lifted her head, elbows leaning heavily on her knees. "From what Thor's said, these powers aren't exactly a new development. Aside from eating, sleeping, and brooding, he hadn't done anything in all that time." Her gaze dropped away. "He doesn't even talk to anyone."_  
  
 _"He seemed pretty talkative to me." Fury sighed, lifting a hand, "Look, all I'm saying is we need take some precautions. He can't stay here. If there's an incident, say he snaps again, he's right in the middle of the same City he destroyed the last time."_  
  
 _"Where is he gonna go." Bruce raised his eyebrows. "With you?"_  
  
 _"To a secure facility--"_  
  
 _Thor bristled, stepping forward._  
  
 _"You will not imprison my brother!"_  
  
 _Tony snorted._  
  
 _"Oh, yeah, that's a sure fire way to keep him nice and docile--throw him in a cell after he almost died trying to save us."_  
  
 _"Tony's right, you can't--treat him like a criminal after what just happened."_  
  
 _"Banner, he **is**  a criminal--or have you forgotten how he nearly enslaved all of mankind? That his namesake is the God of Lies! He's unstable, he's dangerous--and he apparently has the power to try and do it all over second time!" _  
  
 _"But he WON'T!" Tony crossed the distance between him and Fury. "You think a guy like that would wait this long? What, that he was biding his time, moping around the tower, watching pigeons and sucking down gallons of tea every day? He was a ghost, in a room full-a people who hated his guts--you'd THINK a super-villainous dick like him would sit back with a mimosa and watch us get our asses thoroughly kicked--but he, HE, threw down like a champ. For US. So, go ahead. You and your secret agent men can try and take him if you want. But you'll be dealing with me. And one truly pissed off Norse God."_  
  
 _Thor crossed his arms._  
  
 _"And me." Bruce removed his glasses with a shrug. "I don't like losing patients. I'm his doctor, and it's gonna stay that way."_  
  
 _Natasha slowly stood from her chair, moving next to Barton's bed. He sat up a bit straighter, his face set in stone._  
  
 _Steve moved and stood by Tony._  
  
 _"Loki stays. Trust me. You have nothing to worry about."_

  
  
The assassin sighed, running her nails over her scalp. Fury hadn't been happy. But he left, throwing one or two scathing remarks over his shoulder. It was the strangest sense of Deja Vu. She leaned her chin in her hand, watching the steady rise and fall of Loki's chest.   
  
The anxiety that tightened in her stomach was different this time. The air was tense, but not the same. Their space wasn't invaded anymore. They just wanted him to open his eyes.   
  
Steve was quiet when he stepped in. He gave her a tired half smile. A corner of her mouth quirked in return. Thor had spent the last day and a half in this room, without food, without sleep. They had finally convinced him to get some rest. As long as the team promised to keep vigil over his brother. So, they went in shifts. Clint hobbled by in the morning, Tony took over for the afternoon. Nat and Steve were the nighttime round. Bruce hovered. Constantly.   
  
Natasha quietly slipped from the room, her fingers grazing the soldier's shoulder as she left. He stood rigidly over the bed, hands in his pockets. The white was blinding against the god's currently blue skin. The color of his face was lighter than it was on the street, he thought. He supposed this is what a Frost Giant looks like when 'ashen'. He had lost a lot of blood, after all.   
  
Loki always tended to look like he had been hit with a mack truck. Even before, when he was evil ( _was_  evil?), his face was gaunt, circles lined his eyes, a pallor in his skin. Too thin. Steve hadn't given it much thought. Now, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. He should have made sure he was eating. He should have made him come in from the rain. He should have tried to talk with him, sit with him, or just--ask if there was anything he had wanted. Steve should have noticed him before.   
  
Before he was lying there, in a hospital bed with a needle in his arm. It was just easier, letting himself stay so mad.   
  
A shoulder brushed against his arm. Thor wasn't the only one losing sleep around here.   
  
"...I think it's a good look for him." Tony tilted his head, arms crossing. "Very James Cameron."   
  
"Who."   
  
"James Cameron. Titanic. Avatar." Tony glanced at him, "Movies. You should watch them. Do you even watch movies made in the last three decades?"   
  
"Saw something called The Matrix the other day. Did they really do the--"   
  
"Green screen. Movie magic. Word of the wise, don't let anyone make you watch the other two, just terrible."   
  
 _Beep._  
  
Beep.  
  
Beep.  
  
"..You’re thinking pretty loud there, Cap--"  
  
"We just stood there."  
  
 _Beep._  
  
"We--stood there, and watched him get hit. Why didn't we do anything."  
  
"We couldn't. We were down for the count."   
  
"We've been down before, but we still--"  
  
"It's not your fault, Cap."   
  
 _Beep._  
  
"...It was all of us."   
  
Tony turned and half-bolted out the door. Steve watched him disappear down the corridor. The soldier stepped to the side of the bed and took a seat in the chair beside the god. He leaned on his knees, staring at the still face, black hair splayed on the pillow behind him. He rubbed his mouth, his tongue twisting restlessly behind his teeth. He closed his eyes.   
  
"..My mother used to tell me that..if you forgive, you're closer to Christ. I tried to live by that, you know--but..when you're older, things change. The world turns ugly. Like war. I guess we all forget along the way, the kind of good the world used to be built on. We hold onto it, because it's there. That's my fault. So...what I'm saying here is..I forgive you. And I should've let go a lot sooner."   
  
The body beside him weakly  _huffed_.   
  
Steve's head shot upwards, suddenly staring into bleary, pained red eyes.   
  
"Sentiment."


	10. Bond

Pink. Hues of pink, yellow, beige; mottled reds and blues. White. Pink. White. 

  
  
_The man's mouth was gaping comically, eyes blown wide. His jaw twitched, trying to speak. Nothing came. The Soldier nearly toppled into a wall in his haste to leave, the chair he previously occupied crashing to the floor._   
  
_His confusion did not last._   
  
_One glimpse of all that ugly skin was explanation enough. He tried to pull himself up, but fire burst in his side, forcing him to drop back on his elbow. His breath caught, agony threading through his chest, shoulders, racing directly back to his head. His vision swam, those shadows returning, pain blooming behind his eyes._   
  
_He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to go, before the soldier returned with the others._

  
  
The skin was smooth. Soft to the touch--rough about his palms in spots, from weapons. Not like the golden son's, of course, but enough. Proof of skill. 

  
  
_He had nearly slid off the bed when footfalls came running down the corridor. Banner appeared around the doorjamb, the Soldier on his heels. Banner shot forward, hands out stretched._   
  
_"--Whoa, whoa--don't do that, you could--"_   
  
_The slighter God near scrambled back onto the bed, meaning to get off the other side and put the structure between them, arm raised to defend himself. A metal stand toppled to the ground--a sack of fluids going with it. His hand jerked, and to his horror, he realized a tube leading from the sack was attached to his hand._   
  
_"Keep away from me!"_   
  
_Banner stopped, hands raised. Why had he stopped?_   
  
_"Hey..hey, okay..just--stop movin' around, you're gonna rip your stitches, or collapse a lung, okay?"_   
  
_"..Wha.." His breath was coming in short gasps, crouched on the bed. Some machine behind him was ringing relentlessly. The Soldier inched forward, his hand also raised._   
  
_"Loki...it's okay..calm down, or you're gonna hurt yourself."_   
  
_The god panted, eyes darting between the two of them. Pure adrenaline kept the pain at bay._   
  
_"..What are you playing at." He swallowed, "What are you **waiting**  for?!" _   
  
_Banner frowned, but before he could respond, great booming steps were echoing in the hallway._

  
  
They were foolish, these mortals. Far too confident, far too...accommodating. In his heart of hearts, he was certain it would get them all killed for their trouble. And even deeper, in a place he did not wish to give voice to, that thought froze him to his core. 

  
  
_The Soldier's back hit the wall rather hard as Thor pushed his way into the room. A tuft of red hair over his shoulder and uneven steps further down told him the Bird and Spider had come as well._   
  
_Loki pursed his lips._   
  
_Thor stepped forward, brow furrowed, those all too earnest blue eyes shining._   
  
_"Brother," He glanced at the doctor, the Soldier, "What ails you, why are you--"_   
  
_"Surely you do not mean to **protect me**."_   
  
_"--Protect you? From what do you need protection?"_   
  
_"Is that what you mean to do? You mean to mock me first, is that it--"_   
  
_"Brother, pleas--"_   
  
_" **I am NOT your BROTHER!** " Pain flashed in Thor's eyes. Oh, he hoped it ripped him, burned him, crushed every remaining ember of kinship he had left in him--he hoped it mutilated his heart beyond all recognition and made his blood thicken and  **choke him**  for this. _   
  
_"Spare me this wretched **pretense** ," His gaze flicked over the rest of them he could see, "You can see it now, how you've harbored a monster, in nature AND in blood. For my beloved Hela, and the infernal circle of betrayers that surely awaits me, just  **end it.** " _   
  
_Thor's face fell. Every last bit of sickly color faded from his cheeks, and he looked as if he might crumble under his own awesome weight._   
  
_"..No..No, L.."_   
  
_The smaller God nearly fell off the back of the small hospital bed (Banner failing to choke back a cry of panic), as Thor suddenly came closer. The taller Aesir dropped to his knees beside him and the bed._   
  
_"Loki...you are safe. My friends--they would not harm you, let alone take your life."_   
  
_Loki gave a broken, hysterical sound._   
  
_"What DEVOTION you give to this charade!"_   
  
_"Loki--Liesmith, look upon me." Thor's jaw clenched, a terrible sadness and fury lining his eyes. "You are the being of deception, the weaver of untruths--in all our years together, you have caught my every lie. Now, you **look upon me**. I will tell you, on my honor, on my very life, that no harm will befall you in this place. What do you see." _   
  
_Red eyes bore into glassy blue ones, for what seemed like an age._   
  
_Slowly, his gaze turned, falling on every face crowding in his little room. No one seemed to breathe. No one shifted, no one moved, as he seemed to cut through their eyes, straight down to those dark, ugly places inside them. Only the Spider averted her gaze._   
  
_There was a white glint over the bowman's shoulder. Stark stared back into him, unreadable, lips in a thin, grim line._   
  
_Loki grimaced. The pain flooded back in an instant, as his chest slowly unclenched._   
  
_**Conviction.**_   
  
_He caught himself before he collapsed on the sterile white sheets, knees giving out, suddenly very tired, spent, weak. Thor stood at once, helping him lay back down once more. Banner was at his side in seconds, lifting the stand off the ground, careful not to dislodge the tube feeding his hand. The doctor maneuvered around Thor and the bed._   
  
_"I think it's safe to say you don't have brain damage.." He gave him a haphazard smile, carefully covering him with the rumpled sheets. The disdainful glance he shot was lost on Banner as he gently lifted the cloth off his side to check his injury. Thor hovered, righting the chair on the floor to sit in it._   
  
_"Well, you didn't rip yourself open again, thankfully...you could probably eat something if you want."_   
  
_"I got it--"_   
_"I'll go--"_   
  
_Loki frowned towards the doorway, Stark and the Soldier glancing shortly at one another. He jumped as the doctor's hand palmed his forehead, a small light in his fingers._   
  
_"Nothing too big, though. I could probably swing some tea too. You like Earl Grey, right?" The little light flashed across his eyes, leaving dark, purplish spots in its wake._   
  
_Loki blinked, fatigue settling in his bones. Banner rambled on above him, and the others seemed to trickle out. He could feel their eyes on him as they left._   
  
_Rough fingers found his in the sheets beside him, curling around the crook of his thumb. He sighed. Slowly, very slowly, his fingers bent around them in turn._   
  
_Their color bled from blue to white._

  
  
He turned his arm, the dim light behind him flicking across the illusioned skin.   
  
Loki hadn't stayed in Stark's hospice for very long. Four weeks, versus the customary eight. While nowhere near the Aesir's gift for fast healing, his Jotun attributes hastened his recovery. Banner's panic at seeing his bed vacated the morning before was more than a bit amusing. He flippantly rebuffed his fussing after, insisting he was well enough to be walking about so soon. His concern was irritating. Loki had left him a bowl of strawberries by his usual seat in the miraculously untouched lounge that afternoon.   
  
In the time he had been incapacitated, Stark had made dizzying progress in rebuilding the atrium and the rooms surrounding. They had running water, a new kitchen counter, the floors replaced. Long strips of plastic hung where the tall glass walls once stood. The electronic devices were arriving daily, workmen wandered the space, and (thankfully) JARVIS was up and running in every room once more.   
  
The landing was clear again. The newer marble smooth and bright against the slabs that didn't need replacing.   
  
Loki turned over his shoulder. The Avengers were crowded on the floor where the black couches once were, chewing noisily on the food they shoveled from the white boxes in their hands. Stark was talking. Per usual. Banner was at his right, smiling into his food. The Soldier looked nonplussed, and the Spider was biting back a grin. The Bird jarred her shoulder with his own.   
  
A veil had lifted since he watched such a scene before. He didn't join them. But the invitation was there. Loki turned, brushing aside the curtain of plastic and wandered out onto the landing. Unaware of the bright blue eyes trained on his back.   
  
He breathed in the cool night air, the great city below him twinkling brightly into the night. He had no love for the creatures that wandered it, scurrying about, leading their various, pointless lives. Midigard would never be a place he called home. Asgard had never truly been. But here, cold stone under his feet, fading bruises on his ribs, and Banner's laughter floating from the warmth behind him...  
  
He slid quietly to the ground, back pressed against a low curve of accented marble. The shards in his chest were knitting. The Void was smothered.   
  
"You should eat."   
  
Loki jumped, head snapping to see Thor standing beside him, one of those boxes in one hand, an apple in the other.   
  
Loki turned back to the city.   
  
"I have eaten."   
  
A pause. The other God dropped to the ground noisily beside him, the hand extended with the apple.   
  
"You should eat  _more_."   
  
Loki gave the offending fruit a long dry look. When he saw Thor would not budge, he snatched it away.   
  
"One would think you would rather keep company with the more savory, Thor."  
  
The god laughed.   
  
"One would think. But the night is calm, and my company now is the company I prefer."   
  
"Foolish."   
  
"Then I am a fool--as you've said for many years. So be it. I am happy to be a fool."  
  
Loki glanced at him from the corner of his eye. He took a bite of the apple.   
  
"Y'know, great as fruit is--" Loki looked up again, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. "You can't live off that stuff."   
  
Banner groaned as he sat on the smaller God's other side, and pushed one of those boxes in his hands.   
  
"Here--you need protein. Way more than you've been getting."   
  
Loki blinked at the box, and the doctor shook it.   
  
"Take it--I'm gonna hound you 'til you finish the damn thing."   
  
Loki huffed. He palmed the thing, lip curling at its contents.   
  
"Wow, Tony. You actually built this thing tall enough to see stars."   
  
Loki twisted to look over his shoulder. The Spider wandered out onto the landing, swiping aside the plastic. The Bird trailed after her, his limp no longer prominent.   
  
"Not a lot. But I gotta give it to you for the view."   
  
They took seats across from the godlings and Banner, the woman assassin idly stirring the food in her hand.   
  
"If this is gonna be a regular thing, I may invest in some lawn chairs. Maybe a hot tub. Lap of luxury, the next time someone tries to blow my building out of the sky." Stark trotted over, the glow in his chest even brighter in the darkened space. He dropped down next to Thor, an ever present tumbler in his hand, filled with amber colored liquid.   
  
"I thought balcony brooding was Snarky's thing. Doesn't it defeat the purpose, if we're all out here at once? It's warmer inside, you know, wallowing can take place somewhere less dramatic--"  
  
"By the Norns, do you  _never_  stop  _talking_? If by some miracle you stopped your mindless chatter, I truly believe you would  _combust_  from the awesome force of your own nonsense."   
  
Stark blinked.   
  
Banner shook with laughter. Thor was grinning. The lights went out inside.   
  
"Now that he's inclined, man of Iron, I believe my brother's words will cut you. His wit is a thing of legend!"   
  
"I'm not sure that's a good thing." The Soldier stood over them, a box in hand, and a blanket in the other. He moved to sit next to Tony, tossing the blanket near the godling's feet.  
  
"I'm with all-American over here. Is it too late for him to revert to Emo Kid mode?"   
  
Loki snorted, eying a dubious piece of meat at the end of his fork.   
  
"It doesn't look like much, but it's good." Steve shrugged, gesturing with his box.   
  
"Yeah. Eat up, kid. Can't have you crapping out on us next time."   
  
Loki looked up.  
  
"Next time."  
  
"Hey, we gonna give him a super special nickname? If he still had the helmet, I'd opt for Goat Man."   
  
Barton huffed. Natasha near rolled her eyes.   
  
"Thor goes by Thor." Barton met his eyes a moment, a noodle slipping between his lips. "Loki works fine the way it is." 

"I dunno. Raise a lot of questions, considering." Bruce stretched his legs across the cold marble. "I like 'Silvertongue'."

Loki numbly chewed on the Midigardian fare, conversation floating about him in the crisp night air.   
  
He would not wonder until much later how Thor calling him his brother did not cause him to flinch. Nor would he know the precise moment the rest of them warranted names in place of titles.   
  
Only that they were.   
  
What strange lost creatures they are. What foolish hopes they gave him in such a weary world.   
  
 _All things can be mended._


	11. Epilogue

_So much eternal night. Swirls of dark, bruising colors, unseen to simple mortal eye. Oh, they could never see these kinds of wonders through flesh and pus; nor were they ever gifted with such _sight__. At least, not until now. Genomes and tendrils of twisting precious matter have so changed them.   
  
 _Disgusting._  
  
 _How long it took these things to **evolve**  past the gray, wriggling fish they once were. And how violently they reject it. _  
  
 _They had nearly had them… a finger’s length away from crushing them, utterly, into wet, stinking piles._  
  
 _(Such things I have in store for you, princeling.)_  
  
 _Feet came clamoring over the steps behind him, the owner stumbling in his haste._  
  
 _“Lord…my lo..”_  
  
 _He turned. His quivering, twisted form stood a few steps below him, a round, dark stone in his palm. It pulsed._  
  
 _An awful grin split his reddish mouth, moving to take the stone._  
  
 _“…There you are…”_  
  
  
  
  
  
“—Loki?”  
  
The younger God had his face pressed towards the sky, his back turned to the curtains of plastic. His whole body tensed, and utterly still. The others spoke loudly within, migrating towards the repaired kitchen.  
  
Bruce stepped forward.   
  
“Something wrong?”  
  
A long moment. His eyes remained trained on the skies, the dull silver flecks of stars reflected there. At last he turned.   
  
“..No.” He brushed past the doctor, the pallor in his cheeks suddenly much deeper.   
  
  
“It was nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I really appreciate it. As stated, this was a prompt on the norsekink meme, and--in a nutshell--the poster asked for a fic including Loki redemption, domestic Avengers, Loki stripped of magic but still retaining his Jotun abilities, and ultimately him saving the day in a truly epic fashion. I can honestly say, this is way too fun to write. 
> 
> This is part one in a three part series, and I finished the first section some time ago. I've just gotten time to write the rest, and those parts will be posted as soon as possible. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, for the kudos, and I hope you enjoy my little series.


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